Making a Difference
by Stickki
Summary: Omega. The heart of evil in Asari. The place of secrets in Salarian. The world without law in Turian. And land of opportunity in Krogan.  To a certain turian in blue armor, it is mostly that.
1. Chapter 1

**I tried searching for fics about Garrus' time on Omega, and couldn't find too many of those. Don't know how much Bioware is gonna shed light into that, if at all.**

**We know the names of the team, and some other random facts about them... The names can give some idea of their races, though nothing conclusive... Just my vision, though I tried to make it as accurate as I could.**

**Read and review. **

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Arctus Nectos was an ordinary turian, at least in his opinion. He just wanted to support himself, see the galaxy a bit... Y'know, experience adventure, see things. Grand dreams for a man who drove a small shuttle.

He sighed at his pitiful and uneventful life. His shuttle was a reflection of that; small, regular, boring... Except that the shuttle wasn't actually his; his fear of change and danger had kept him from making any kind of big money... Or 'big money', since the volus he and his partner had bought it from had sold it for a few thousand credits. But Arctus hadn't even had that.

Or maybe the shuttle was more of a reflection of himself than he thought; it was not like his life was his to live either...

Luckily, or 'luckily', he had met someone who had no such monetary or moral restrictions as he: Tirz.

Tirz was a turian, just like him... which was where the similarities ended. Tirz wasn't bound by his fear; he did things he wanted, often to recklessness. As a matter of fact, Arctus could remember pulling his hide out from dozens of places it shouldn't have been in. However, the worst thing about him was not his negligence, but his never-stopping optimism. _'Everything will work out, you'll see...' _

And Arctus had seen, usually for the things to turn out even worse than they were before. But Tirz just kept believing in himself.

Arctus wasn't perfect either; to escape his miserable life, he had started using red sand. He was constantly high, reduced to just a miserable junkie. Not that he had been anything special before... Arctus remembered hearing that the difference between a junkie and an addict was that the addict still cared about what his addiction looked like to outsiders. And Arctus hadn't cared for a long time; his eyes were red from the drug, and his face looked repugnant, even disgusting himself when looking to mirror. He looked just like a drug abuser did. And he didn't care.

Arctus hated his life, and he hated Tirz.

But the thing he hated most was himself. His fear of change, his fear of anything new... He could, and should quit. Tell Tirz that he'd had enough, that he was leaving.

Yet he did not do such things. He just was. And he continued on, like the coward he was.

He flexed his neck as the shuttle dropped out from FTL, setting the course towards Omega.

Omega... Arctus and Tirz had set up a regular route between that hellhole and the Citadel, attracting very diverse sort of passengers. Desperate drunks and addicts, mercenaries, businessmen and 'businessmen', and just some who wanted to disappear.

The work he did disgusted him; he felt like an errand boy for the criminal underworld, doing whatever they wanted for money. One time in particular was forever burned into his mind: He remembered a couple of Blue Suns having a prisoner with them, killing him on-board... Then forcing Tirz and him to help them dispose the body. Tirz hadn't cared; The Suns had paid them extra, which meant more money for Tirz to spend on his idiotic ventures to 'get rich quickly.' They always backfired though, often forcing Arctus rescue him with his own money.

He didn't know why he did it, why he didn't just leave the bastard to his own fate. He damn well should.

"Tirz," he said to the turian sleeping in the co-pilot's chair. "Tirz!"

The turian snapped awake, his dark eyes peering around the cockpit, noticing Arctus. "What, what?" his annoying staccato voice asked. Even his voice annoyed Arctus; he sounded like someone who'd constantly whine and bitch, which was exactly what he did and was. A moronic whiner with endless ambition; both the long and short description of Tirz.

"Go wake our guest up," Arctus ordered him, irritated that Tirz had again forgotten his duties. It was his job to handle the customer service, while he drove the junkbox... He had always been much smoother than Arctus, even before Arctus had regressed into a disgusting junkie. Tirz definitely could talk, but most often his own stupidity made things so bad that even his skills in oratory couldn't save him.

"Our guest..." Tirz muttered, his beady eyes narrowing in thought. Arctus was worried that he might again voice another one of his 'plans', but again did nothing to stop it. "I have an idea..."

Of course he did. "Your last few 'ideas' haven't worked out that well," Arctus said quietly, reminding Tirz of his latest endeavor with some batarian. The 'endeavor' had ended when the batarian had found out that Tirz was stealing money from him and beat him up.

Of course, Tirz's explanation was completely different, telling Arctus about how the batarian was jealous of him for making so much money, and how he was making false accusations because of that jealousy. Arctus wasn't quite sure what the arrangement between them was, but he was pretty sure it had something to do with gambling. And extremely sure that the batarian wasn't making _'false accusations.'_

He didn't care.

"No, no!" Tirz exclaimed, now turned at him. "Just hear me out. This plan is solid..."

…

Arctus didn't know how he'd let himself be talked into this again... And this plan was not only stupid, but also revolting and bad business. Even his drug-dulled mind knew that selling their passengers to the batarian slavers wasn't smart in the long run. Sure, they'd get compensated big, but after hearing that this line's passengers tend to disappear... Well, no more passengers, and most likely a C-Sec investigation on their asses the next time they arrived at the Citadel.

But Arctus did nothing to stop it, just found his mind craving for another fix... This could provide that.

The two turians had arrived to the cabin's door, when Tirz pulled out a pistol. "Where the hell did you get that?" Arctus asked in terror, afraid what Tirz had had in mind when buying it. Maybe Tirz thought about blowing a hole into him, then selling this ship? Arctus wouldn't even be surprised if that happened.

"I bought it, just in case," he replied, mandibles flickering excitedly once or twice, showing off by aiming the pistol everywhere, eventually at Arctus.

He slapped the pistol down. "Don't point that thing at me!" he whispered loudly, then glanced at the cabin's door, hoping that their passenger hadn't heard.

Tirz just looked even more excited. "C'mon," he said, nodding towards the same door.

Tirz opened the door, stepping in, with Arctus reluctantly following him. The lights were off in the room, the open doorway providing the only light. Tirz walked further into the room, pointing his gun towards the bed at the far-end. Arctus could see their passenger sleeping, wrapped under the covers, unknowing of what would happen next... Good for him.

Arctus' turian partner now stood right before the bed, and reached out for the covers slowly...

Then quickly tossed them aside, pointing his gun at...

A bag.

Before Arctus could even react, something struck the side of his head from the shadows, completely blind-siding him. Arctus lost his balance, and fell to the floor. He heard another similar sound, followed by a loud thump. The clattering of the pistol hitting the metallic floor confirmed that the one who had crashed down had been Tirz. Arctus didn't really know how to feel about that... He wasn't sure which one of them he'd prefer facing.

Then someone picked the pistol up, and Arctus heard steps. He shook his head, trying to get rid of the stars in his eyes, and looked up. Into a muzzle.

He felt terror creeping down his spine, the little that he still had. Even though he was pathetic, he didn't want to die. He found himself hoping for nothing else more. He was frozen.

"Here to bring breakfast to bed?" the turian passenger asked from behind the muzzle.

Arctus didn't even look at the man's face as he spoke, simply staring at the hole in his gun in horror. He couldn't move.

Suddenly, the turian before him chuckled dryly, lowering his pistol. Arctus watched as he took a few steps around the room, stopping over Tirz, who still lay on the floor, growling silently. The turian in blue outfit pointed his pistol at Tirz. "Whose plan was that?"

Slowly, and weakly, Tirz pointed at Arctus, who wasn't exactly surprised. Tirz always blamed others, nothing was ever his fault. Arctus snorted quietly_. Sneaky bastard, _he thought_. _This was it; if he survived, he'd quit. He was done. Tirz could roll and die in his own feces for all he cared. Damn, Arctus would even rather move to Invictus jungle than stay here...

Then the turian turned his head at Arctus, immediately freezing him. If he survived...

The turian passenger gazed at him for a second, then turned back to Tirz. "He's a drug addict. You lie." His mandibles moved in hate and disgust as he glared at Arctus' partner. "Turians don't lie."

He then aimed his pistol at Tirz's head, Arctus holding his breath, waiting to see what would happen next. Was he going to kill them? He should; they were scum, slave-traders. They deserved to die.

And he fired.

But Tirz's terrified shriek meant that he was still alive, so the turian had probably missed. On purpose.

Leaving Tirz lying to the floor terrified at his near death, the blue turian stepped nearer Arctus, still cradling the pistol in his hand. "Slavers?" he asked, his mandibles moving knowingly, and Arctus couldn't help but nod. His honor was long gone, but at least he wouldn't lie.

The turian stared at him for a moment, like wondering about that same thing. Apparently he decided to believe him, because he turned around, walked to his bed and opened his bag. "You haven't done this before? Have you?" he asked, dropping the pistol into his bag.

"No," Arctus answered. "It was just spur of the moment..." Arctus again felt disgusted at himself, at his lack of spine. He wasn't a turian, but a vermin. How could he have let it come to this? To become a slaver? When had he completely forgotten his honor? He was filth. "I should have stopped it."

"Yeah, you should have," the turian responded blankly, still keeping his eyes on his bag's contents.

Arctus felt like that he could stand up now, that the turian wasn't going to harm him... He just didn't know if he should.

Despite not knowing he carefully, avoiding any sudden movements, rose back to his feet, nestling against the wall. "What... what do you want?" he asked, the turian looking at him after the question. Arctus' mind quickly starting listing for things the turian could possibly want. "Money? We don't have much, but you can have it all... Or this ship? You can have this ship..." Arctus lowered his head in shame, in self-contempt. If he should die, he should die standing like a true turian would... But he couldn't. "I... I just want to live."

The blue turian closed his bag, and lifted it over his shoulder. "Don't we all..."

As he stepped closer, he gazed at Arctus, who felt like shrinking before him. Like he was a worm, a varren. "And what I want is to get to Omega. Like we agreed."

Arctus nodded quickly. "O-of course."

"Good," the passenger replied, stepping outside the room, gesturing for Arctus to follow.

They stepped out, and the door closed up behind them, leaving Tirz in the darkness. "W-what about my partner?" Arctus asked hesitantly.

The blue turian stayed quiet, looking around the door for a moment, then found its power switch. He turned it off. "He can stay there and think for a moment."

Arctus glanced at the door, and despite his terror, his mandibles moved in glee. Tirz could definitely use some of that...

…

After approaching Omega and hailing, the Omega's flight control answered.

Or rather Aria's flight control. In exchange for a cut of their profits, Aria allowed them to use her safe docks. Even thought the docks weren't particularly well-guarded or anything, they were very safe; nobody would touch Aria's allies. And live, that is. Arctus didn't really understand how the politics on Omega worked, but he did understand that Aria was at the top, and no one would cross her.

"Dock 427," a batarian voice of the flight control grumbled. "Like always."

"Understood," Arctus acknowledged, locking into Omega's signal, maneuvering the shuttle towards the familiar docking bay.

"How's Tirz?" the batarian asked. "Still alive?"

Arctus glanced behind him, towards the cabin his partner was locked in, and his mandibles moved in glee again. "Unfortunately," he replied.

The blue turian was sitting on the co-pilot's seat, constantly keeping his pistol pointed at Arctus, who knew that even one false move or word would be deadly. Still, he wasn't very worried, since he didn't plan to make one. When looking at the pistol again, he noticed that it was not the same one Tirz had bought; this one looked much newer and powerful.

It wasn't exactly a surprise that their passenger was armed; any sane person traveling to Omega was. But the pistol looked pretty top of the line to Arctus, even though he didn't know much about weapons, being a pilot during his military service and all... But he did recognize jewels from crap. So to speak.

"Is Tirz the one thinking in there?" the blue turian asked suddenly, his head tilted towards Tirz's at-the-moment prison. Arctus nodded in response, not bothering to answer.

"You don't get along?" the passenger followed up with another question.

They had tried to sell him to slavery, yet he seemed to hold no resentment towards them? Well, towards him at least... Arctus did have his reservations though; if he'd be in that position, he'd already killed them. Just to be sure. But apparently the turian at his side had nothing to worry about.

He clearly had seen combat, taking down both him and Tirz without any effort... True, neither of them was much of a fighter, but they were still grown men.

His posture too reinforced his suspicions; he noticed the passenger's talon closed into a fist on his lap, ready to strike, his dark eyes constantly following him, his legs positioned beneath him to get up fast. Arctus knew he wouldn't have a chance.

"No, we don't," Arctus replied to him, feeling uneasy at being watched so closely, at being probably a second away from death.

The passenger didn't ask any more questions, but rather grabbed his bag and stood up. Arctus took that as a gesture that he wasn't in a mood to talk more, so he stayed quiet.

But as they got closer to the landing zone, Arctus' mandibles started to flicker nervously, finding his hands not working with such automated precision as they usually did... Could be that he had a gun pointed at him. Still, following the signal Omega sent was easy enough, probably easy enough that not even Tirz could fuck it up.

And therefore, neither could Arctus.

The shuttle landed on a familiar pad, probably for the hundredth time with a soft thump.

They had arrived.

...

Garrus picked up his bag from the floor, constantly keeping his gun pointed at his chauffeur. He was a drug addict, and Garrus knew better than to trust drug addicts. He had met countless during his time on C-Sec, and had quickly realized that they cared for nothing else except their next fix. Everything was fair game, if it could somehow help them satisfy their addiction.

Like most, he felt revolted by them, but didn't exactly hate them. Some were addicts by choice, but he could understand that some of them were swept into their chemical-filled existences by events much larger than them. Still, he didn't pity them either.

Strangely though the turian before him wasn't exactly a typical junkie; he had a legal job, owned property... Garrus couldn't understand why he would have to search for comfort from chemicals.

Yet, it wasn't like Garrus understood much of anything actually; that was the reason he'd left the Citadel, left the Spectre training. Because he didn't understand.

He couldn't understand how none of the people there had any spine. Everyone just talked, and talked, and talked. Nobody ever did anything. Just empty words, empty promises.

With Reapers on the loose... How could someone not act?

Finally, he'd just had enough. He had thought the Spectres were free of regulations and rules made by people who had no idea what field work was, yet there was enough red tape to wrap one's self in. Report this, report that. Three copies of this, three copies of that. That's what everyone cared about; protocol.

Like there weren't worse problems.

So he had left. Left the pathetic bureaucrats to their own devices. They could talk for all he cared; talk about reports, about how many copies one should make. Talk about protocol, what was proper.

Let them do that. Let them talk.

He would actually step up and do what he said.

Omega was perfect for that; no rules, no reports. He was in charge, he answered only to himself. He made the decisions.

And carried the consequences.

It was probably the reason why he hadn't killed that lying bastard of a turian. He knew he should have, the scum deserved it. Yet he had not, had just scared him. Garrus didn't know why; he had not come to Omega to be lenient to criminals, especially to slavers.

But even so, the decision had been his, and it felt liberating. He made the calls, whatever those calls may be. He was actually doing something, not just sitting around and talking about it.

With a quiet thump, the shuttle landed to a landing pad.

His pistol still pointed at the pilot, he muttered a new threat. "I should kill you. You are a criminal."

The turian before him tensed up again, his mandibles twitching erratically in fear. Garrus felt some strange pleasure at seeing the junkie before him squirm, some sinister enjoyment over seeing the disgusting creature trembling in terror. Sometimes melodrama worked, especially on the dumber ones.

But the joy he felt wasn't simply some sadistic pleasure, but rather that Garrus felt like he was making a difference. The turian would think twice before trying that again. This was why he had left for Omega; to make a difference.

He wouldn't have to make any reports of this; just handle the situation the way he pleased and carry on. He felt free.

Killing him was one solution, the most efficient one, but somehow it just didn't feel right. If the junkie was telling the truth, this was the first time he'd done something like that, and Garrus wanted to believe him. Somehow he felt slight pity at the creature, being manipulated by that other scum...

So Garrus lowered his pistol, holstering it back into the thigh-holster. The turian before him almost sighed of relief at seeing that, the feeling of glee again surfacing inside Garrus. He dug his hand into his bag, his talons wrapping around a handle of a pistol. His assailants' pistol. He pulled it out, and tossed it to the junkie's lap, who simply stared at it in disbelief. "I don't steal," Garrus said coldly.

Then he pulled a credit chit from his pocket, tossing it to the turian as well, landing on top of the pistol. The turian simply kept staring at Garrus, his mandibles opening in confusion.

Garrus was pretty certain that the junkie wouldn't shoot him in the back, but as a precaution had still removed the ammo block from it. He wasn't putting his life in the hands of an addict, he wasn't that stupid.

"You should think more carefully at who you pair up with," Garrus said thoughtfully before turning around and starting towards the airlock. "Have a nice trip. Stay clean."

And exiting the ship.

...


	2. Chapter 2

Omega.

He was finally on Omega. It had definitely been hard enough to boot...

The heart of evil in asari. The place of secrets in salarian. The world without law in turian.

Land of opportunity in krogan.

Garrus found himself agreeing with the krogan version. This was his opportunity.

Garrus had seen pictures of the place countless times, but had still expected the place to be more of a space station, and less of a sewer. He sniffed the air carefully, the smell of dried urine, alcohol, and feces filling his sinuses with their offensive smell. This place was literally a piece of crap, and Garrus found himself wishing that he had his combat armor on, with its olfactory filters maxed out.

He started along a corridor with windows on both walls, some only showing the asteroid Omega was built on, but through some he noticed a few vorcha lurking and scurrying around. Vorcha weren't exactly evil by nature, but neither were they victims. Their culture was very violent, where inflicting and receiving pain was the normal way of communicating. This made vorcha very ferocious soldiers, something the krogan appreciated. Or rather 'appreciated'... The Blood Pack, first only a small vorcha gang in the Terminus Systems, was now the largest krogan mercenary group in the galaxy. The founders of the gang were now just a tool for their new masters, an expendable resource to complete the Pack's ruthless goals.

But Garrus couldn't deny that the krogan's use of vorcha wasn't smart; the vorcha were extremely adaptable. Every time a vorcha would regenerate some part of itself, it was made stronger. So, subsequently, a popular method among the Pack was to beat the vorcha into soldiers, making them much tougher than other members of their species. Also, in theory, they were capable of living in almost any environment, capable to eat almost anything and survive. Which was why the vorcha often lived in places no other sentient being could, for they were very much shunned by the rest of the society. Vermin, they were called.

It wasn't exactly a lie.

But Garrus wasn't interested in the vorcha, they weren't the reason he was here. The Blood Pack, on the other hand...

Banned from Citadel Space, they often bribed themselves into conflicts, and were known for their ferocity and ruthlessness. The Pack didn't care about innocents getting in their way; they just wanted to kill as much as they could. Exactly the kind of people Garrus was here to see... And if things went well; do more than just see.

He noticed a batarian standing next to a door at the far-end. The batarian approached him as Garrus neared him, and a quick observation with his trained eyes revealed that he wasn't hostile. For now, since noticing the pistol at his side, Garrus knew he would if he had to.

"Welcome to Omega," the batarian greeted, tilting his head to the right as a sign of superiority. The way he greeted sounded mechanic, like he'd learned the words by heart... Probably just some Aria's thug masked as a greeter, meant to establish dominance... Quite transparent.

But, deciding that it was best not to draw attention to himself, Garrus tilted his head to the left as a sign of respect in a batarian way. He noticed it working, seeing as the batarian's mouth curling up slightly,revealing his yellow, spiky teeth. Facial expressions of aliens weren't exactly hard to understand, but they were illogical; why would tensing your facial muscles mean that you are glad? To turians, tensing up meant taking offense.

"You are in Aria's territory," the batarian continued, much more courteously than before. "You know who Aria is?"

"I do," Garrus replied. He definitely knew the Pirate Queen, the ruler of Omega. Or, well, most of Omega anyway. Unlike some of the criminals here who where just technically untouchable, Aria actually was. And Garrus could accept that. For now.

"Good. Means I don't have to explain it to you," the batarian snapped, the courtesy quickly vanishing.

"Can I go?" Garrus asked, not really caring much for this chat either.

The batarian grumbled lowly, and opened the door.

As Garrus was just about to step through, the batarian's voice stopped him. "Watch yourself out there. This isn't the Citadel."

Garrus didn't bother to turn his head at the four-eyed humanoid. "Thanks for the tip."

…

This definitely wasn't the Citadel.

At least the Citadel looked like it wasn't infested with crime, but this place wasn't even trying to hide that fact. The whole place just reeked of underworld.

The large club before him especially.

Garrus recognized the large and dark building from countless of photos he had seen during his time in C-Sec as Afterlife, Aria's club. But even if he didn't, it wasn't that hard to recognize it as a place of organized crime, the heavily armed guards surrounding it giving the fact away easily.

Garrus had heard that the club was extremely popular, but after seeing the hundred meter line with his own eyes... Extremely wasn't strong enough word. And they also said that the line was always there, regardless of the time.

If time was even a factor aboard the station, since Omega didn't actually have any kind of night and day cycle.

But it was still just a club among others, and Garrus found it hard to understand its popularity... Perhaps it was the only club on the station? He felt tempted to find out the reason for such interest, but quickly decided against it. Neither waiting in that line for hours to get in, or dropping his name at the door seemed a particularly good idea. The other might put his life in danger, the other his sanity. He was sure he'd get in; being part of the team that stopped Saren a year and a half ago had some benefits to it... Aria would most certainly be interested in him. He was just not sure he'd get out alive.

Garrus quickly shook such thoughts from his mind, shook Shepard away. He wasn't here to tear open old wounds.

Mood slightly glum, he continued forwards, deeper into Omega.

Since he wasn't going into the Afterlife, he had to figure out another way to gain information. He didn't know anything about Omega and needed someone who did, but truthfully didn't even know where to start, where to even find that someone.

He noticed another pack of vorcha skulking at a distance.

Even those that don't understand can see...

…

_Food. Need food. Rax hungry._

Rax took a small round object into his hand, the thing's complexion surpassing his limited comprehension. He placed it into his mouth and bit it. _Hard. Not food. _

Rax screeched in frustration, felt the sense of famish ever growing. _Rax hungry! Angry!_

His eyes peered around again, then suddenly saw something dark cast over the floor. A shadow. Rax turned to face the creature with anger, hindering his search for nourishment like that. It was one of those plated things; a turian. "Rah! Move! Rax can't see!" he screeched.

"Your name is Rax?" the plated thing asked, irritating Rax even further.

"Move!" he screamed.

To his surprise, the turian creature didn't hurt him, but moved aside, allowing him to see again. _Rax not understand._

But the lack of nourishment suppressed his curiosity quickly, and he continued searching for something to eat again.

"What are you looking for?" the same voice asked.

"Food..." Rax muttered, beginning to slightly wonder why the creature asked him questions. _Rax not know stuff._

Then suddenly, he noticed a tube falling to the floor from somewhere, immediately Rax's hand snatching it. Keeping the tube under his nose, he sniffed it. _Not smell like food... _

"It's food," the armored one claimed though. "Open the cap and you'll see."

Rax saw a small white thing at the end of the tube... _Cap?_ He placed the thing between his teeth and bit them together, pulling from the tube with all his strength. After a straining moment, the top came off and Rax's nostrils were filled with the scent of food. He squeezed the tube and orange stuff poured out into his mouth, tasting strange, yet good. _It better than what on the floor. The armored figure want something. _Even Rax understood that.

"What want you?" Rax hissed, turning towards his 'benefactor'.

"Answers," the alien replied.

Rax growled, returning his limited attention to the tube. He bit a piece out of it, tinfoil, plastic and the paste grinding between his teeth. "Rax know nothing."

"You may know more than you'd think," the creature said.

Rax pondered the words for a moment, his meager brain trying to understand what the alien meant. After a moment, he came to the realization that he didn't, but still gathered that the alien wanted to ask something of him. "Ask."

"Mercenaries. What do you know about them?"

Mercenary. The word invoked feelings of anger, hate, and fear inside Rax. He'd seen many of his kind killed by the armed men, been taken away. _Blood Pack. Take vorcha away. Other planets. Makes them fight. Red armor. Large beasts. Krogan._

"Blood Pack take vorcha away," Rax growled, chewing on the tube and the paste. "Make them fight. Some vorcha think fighting better to Omega. Go with them," Rax added, unsure if that was what the plated creature wanted to know. "Krogan in red armor. Many krogan here."

"Where are these krogan?"

"Many places," Rax replied, remembering at least three Blood Pack controlled districts. "Taza district. Nerah, Gotum... All down many levels."

As the plated one didn't follow up with more questions, Rax turned back to the tube, biting off another piece of it. He again could taste the plastic and the tinfoil, and again those scrubbed against his teeth as he chewed. Rax didn't care, just swallowed everything. _Vorcha not get sick._

"Thanks for the information," the turian said, turning away. "Enjoy your meal."

Rax didn't listen, just ate.

…

Three krogan, all in red armor, just like the vorcha had said...

Garrus watched the three large lizards patrolling the streets of Taza through his eye-visor's zoom feature. He'd left the rest of his equipment at his apartment, freshly rented from an elcor at the lower levels of Omega. Except one pistol; he'd never go anywhere on Omega without a gun.

He had taken position inside an abandoned apartment, using it's balcony as an observation point. The location of the structure was strange; All other buildings were built in square-shaped blocks, the wide streets of Taza surrounding these tight clusters. It was all very precise, almost military in such. Maybe it was an old barracks?

But this one building was separate from the rest of them, just sat alone in the corner of the district, abandoned for some reason. Perhaps the krogan had simply killed the last occupant? It was possible, and probable.

Now a fourth krogan came into the view, this one much bigger than the others. He talked to one other krogan, who kept nodding at him, then moving to the next one. Garrus watched as he went through all of the krogan and talked to them briefly. He was clearly a higher ranked merc, probably the one in charge of this district. Maybe Garrus should start his 'cleaning' with him?

Now he just had to figure out a method and a plan to bring justice to those scum. Shooting them was the easiest way, the most efficient solution, but again it didn't feel right. The Blood Pack were known for their brutality, for their ruthlessness... These scum didn't deserve such an easy way out...

Suddenly, something interrupted his pondering; he saw one of the krogan coming out from an apartment, holding a rope in his hand, and in the rope... Oh hell...

Humans, turians, vorcha... All with a band around their neck, the rope tied to that.

Slavers. These krogan were slavers.

Garrus glanced at the prisoners, seeing the desperate looks in their faces, the silent pleads for help. He forced himself to turn away; there was nothing he could do without any weapons...

Garrus cursed at himself, leaving all his gear at the motel like that. Maybe he could have stopped this if he hadn't. He felt helpless, powerless.

With an angry snort, Garrus tapped the side of his visor, the zoom feature shutting down. He couldn't watch this anymore, and he'd already seen enough anyway.

Now he definitely knew that those bastards didn't deserve a simple bullet to the head. More had to be done...

He just had to figure out what and how.

…

Garrus rushed away from the Taza district, walking as quickly as he could. _Damn it_, his first day on Omega, and already this hellhole seemed to crush him.

He needed a drink.

Garrus walked past several small bars, but taking a quick glance inside revealed those as places he shouldn't go in. One was filled with batarians, one only had one other customer, and one had the Blue Suns sign above its door. A bar's popularity was one indicator of its safety; people don't go to places they feel their life is threatened at.

Finally, after some trial and error, he'd found a bar with a turian name, and no gang marks near the doorway. As soon as he stepped in, he noticed two armed turians in combat suits with the abbreviation of OFS in their chests. Garrus recognized the logo; Omega First Security, a small security company and as far as he knew, one with a clean record. Not immoral activities...

Of course, this was Omega.

Their chat died as Garrus entered the vestibule, both of them gripping onto their weapons a bit tighter. They probably had lots of incidents, so their shakiness wasn't very strange. The one on the left, slightly older one, nodded to him rigidly as he entered, while the younger one opened the door by hitting the panel.

Garrus wasn't exactly surprised at the lack of weapon screenings; even the most expensive ones could be fooled, and if someone started shooting, it was better that everyone could handle themselves. At least in places like Omega, where such shootings weren't probably that rare.

Nodding to both of the turians, he entered the bar.

The building had looked quite ramshackle from the outside, but inside was actually very tidy and comfortable. The bar was pretty dark, with calm and quiet music in the background, and Garrus could even admit liking the place. He walked through the murmurs of the varied clientele towards the counter, seeing the turian bartender there. Good, at least Garrus wouldn't need to spend the next four hours in a bathroom vomiting his guts out, like the last time he'd drank a levo-dna drink. Doing that again didn't hold much appeal to him.

He sat down on a barstool, and the bartender immediately arrived to quell his thirst. "What can I get ya?"

"Something strong," Garrus ordered, hoping for something potent than his disgust at the whole station.

"I might have have something for ya... From Palaven, aren't you?" the bartender asked, crouching down behind the counter.

"Yeah," Garrus muttered, the bartender putting a bottle of Palavian liquor on the counter. Turian collectivity... Right now Garrus hated that concept. His facial markings easily identified him being from Palaven, something he definitely didn't want to be remembered of right now. Not because the memories of his home were unpleasant, but because they were pleasant. Or at least some of them were.

Like the ones about his sister, Solana. He hadn't even told her he was here... He should tell her, for she surely would know at some point that he had left the Citadel; his superiors would inform his family at some point. And he'd prefer to tell that himself, not through some others, but Garrus just didn't know what to tell. He couldn't just say that he came to Omega to kill criminals, to fight a war he knew couldn't be won. His mission here was really purposeless, goalless. She'd just ask him to come back home... And sometimes he wanted to.

Then the faces of those slaves returned to his mind, their expressions, their silent pleas for help. At least this was better than sitting on the Citadel doing nothing. He had to do something, not just hope that someone else would do it.

The bartender poured him a glass of violet liquid, which Garrus emptied inside himself immediately. He pointed to the glass to get another, and again the bartender filled it.

Then there was his mom, who'd been sick for a year now. Corpalis syndrome. Deadly. And Garrus hadn't even went back to see her once. Always _'I can't.'_

Garrus took the glass in his hand, staring at his reflection from the liquid's surface. Sometimes it felt like all he could bring others was pain. To criminals, and even to those he cared about.

He was an ugly person.

Again he poured the glass' contents down his throat, not wanting to look at himself. Why was he really here? To make a difference? To actually do something? Maybe, but maybe he really was here for something else...

To disappear. Maybe forever, permanently.

Truth be told, his life was miserable. Had been for two years, ever since...

Garrus felt his mandibles tightening at the memories.

Ever since Shepard had died. Garrus had lost his purpose that day, his meaning, his place in the world. Shepard had given him all that, and when he had died, Garrus had lost everything. He'd just been lost these two years, maybe still was. Everything just seemed meaningless after what he'd seen. Omega was meaningless compared to those monsters lurking at the edge of galaxy.

But he shouldn't think about Shepard, because every time he did someone else crept into his mind too; a girl from the Fleet... And Garrus hadn't told her either that he was here; he was afraid she'd come with him, and wasn't sure if he even wanted to stop her, if he could... He could use a friend like Tali here.

The quarian girl reminded him a lot of his sister; both helped others without even asking, were warm-hearted... And somewhat warm-blooded. Garrus chuckled nostalgically at the images of both of them shouting at him.

But more than anything, Garrus wished that they would never come here. They didn't need to be tainted by this place.

He still wished to see them.

And felt guilty at how he treated them.

Garrus glanced up, and saw the bartender gone, having left the bottle next to his glass. He didn't mind; his own thoughts were company enough. He poured himself another drink, flexing his neck after.

Then he spotted something. Or rather someone.

A turian woman staring at him. She was sitting alone in the dark corner, her eyes shimmering in the dark. Her plates were golden, her facepaint blue like his. Beautiful, from what Garrus could see. The paint could explain the staring, maybe she just noticed him being from Palaven as well?

Or maybe the stare was due to something else...? A woman staring at you in a bar didn't necessarily mean she wanted to kill you.

But that wasn't a chance he was willing to take, not in a place like this.

Garrus clearly turned his head at her, staring back, and she immediately turned her head away... But even that didn't actually confirm any of his suspicions, didn't get him anywhere; women could sometimes act that way, make men come to them...

But Garrus was not in a mood for games, or for anything actually.

He would still keep an eye on her, if only to appreciate the aesthetics...

…


	3. Chapter 3

_Oh by the spirits, _Averna Melanis thought to herself, as the turian she had been following spotted her. How could've he seen her? She had been very careful, had kept her distance, used the shadows, not looked straight at him... Except for once and immediately he had noticed her, but maybe all was not lost; hopefully he thought that she was just checking him out or eying him, or something, but still, just as a precaution, she would leave the bar and wait for him outside.

Just not yet; would be too suspicious.

Melanis had noticed him snooping around inside the Taza district, and that had immediately caught her attention. Spying wasn't exactly uncommon aboard this station, but the turian fool didn't seem to be a mercenary, for he'd gone to his employer already, not to empty the nearest bar... Melanis had watched him down all his drinks very quickly, without speaking more than two words to the bartender. Melanis wasn't a shrink, but this guy's body language made it easy to see that he had problems with the Pack.. Among other things.Melanis watched him empty his fourth (or was it fifth?) drink again very quickly, and she flickered her mandibles in elation; the more he drank, the less he noticed... Would be easier to follow him.

She downed her water and stood up, leaving a cred chit on the table. Melanis casually started to walk towards the door, seeing how the turian stared at her the entire time. It was unnerving, being the watched one for a change. She didn't like the feeling, for she preferred to see, not to be seen. Finally Melanis reached the door and pressed the panel, causing the double doors flew open and the two bouncers turned to see her. They nodded to her courteously, and she flickered her mandibles at both of them.Then she quickly retrieved her long jacket from them and put it on, hiding her typical large-collared, dark red attire under it. The jacket even had a hood, perfect for staying _incognito,_ like humans said sometimes.

"Thanks. Have a nice night," she cooed to the guard, flickering her mandibles again. The guard looked pleased already, but Melanis still handed him a credit chit as a tip. It was an investment, of course; the doormen knew when to enter, and when to stay away. Important skill on Omega.

"You too miss, you are too kind, " the bouncer replied, flickering his mandibles at her now.

_Mm, bold_, Melanis thought, grinning.

"Watch yourself out there," the bouncer continued sincerely.

"I will," she replied, exiting the building.

…

Melanis waited in the shadows for her target to stop drinking himself into a stupor and instead do something that could be deemed interesting. The turian couldn't possibly spot her again, not with her completely different attire – with the hood pulled over her head – and not with her immersing herself into the dark shadows of Omega. She was completely invisible...

And finally her patient waiting was rewarded; the turian in blue outfit exited the bar, stumbling slightly as he walked. He was intoxicated... Good.

She carefully watched him walking on, towards the opposite direction from her hideout. Noticing a small group of other turians walking by her, she joined in their wake, careful to remain hidden, yet still keeping the turian in her sights. It was easy, he walked slowly due to his intoxication... Something Melanis could only shake her head at; this guy was clearly an amateur, no one sane would get drunk on Omega, where the junkies and other scum could attempt to kill you at any given moment... And he was trying to pull some shit with the Pack? Melanis had to save his neck, he clearly couldn't understand how close he was to lose it...Then the strangest thing happened; the turian wobbled to an alley at the left side of the street. The sudden and unexpected event caused Melanis to pick up the pace, for she wasn't gonna lose him nor have him get himself killed by some lowlife living there. She felt the pistol at her hip as she started jogging forward towards the alley. Stopping before it, she carefully poked her head around the corner, still seeing the turian wobbling ahead. She waited until he disappeared behind another corner, before she continued tailing him. Then she stopped in front of that corner, again poking her head around it.

Gone... The turian was gone. She started jogging along the alley, trying to see if the turian had taken another turn, but she couldn't find him.And then she heard someone cocking a pistol from behind her. Right then she knew she wouldn't have to find him, for he had found her... "Oh crap," she muttered.

"Hands up," the turian ordered, and she obliged. "Who do you work for? The Pack?"

He thought she worked for the Pack? A ridiculous idea... That she'd work for those slaving scum? She had done appalling things in her life, but nothing like that. To sell other sentient, feeling beings into the hardships of slavery was unthinkable. All for profit. Anyone who did so deserved to die.

Then her taking a moral stand was interrupted by a gunshot, and she saw it hitting the ground near her feet. She almost jumped up in surprise, gasping loudly. Hands still up, she felt her pulse racing, her heart beating. She felt fear.

"Who do you work for?" the turian asked again, and as she still didn't answer, he fired again.

_Oh damn it, _Melanis thought to herself in slight panic. _Drunkenness and precision shooting don't fit together too well._

"Who do you work for? The next one hits your leg," the turian continued flatly, coldly, like he was just discussing the weather.

_Crap, _the voice of panic said inside Melanis' head. She really wasn't keen on taking a bullet, at least for something this small, so she opened her mouth to speak. "Nobody," she replied.Despite the reply, she heard another gunshot. And like he had promised, it hit her leg. Excruciating pain from her calf filled her senses, causing her leg to stiffen from the turian pain response. She let out a sharp cry as she fell to the ground, clutching her wounded leg as best as she could. She clumsily turned towards her assailant, seeing that the turian's hand was completely steady and that he walked forward in a calm, controlled manner; he clearly wasn't drunk. He'd baited her... And she'd fell for it like a fool.

"Who do you work for? Next one hits the other leg."

"I said to nobody, damn it!" Melanis yelled to her aggressor as a response. She had answered, and he had still shot her, the bastard. But her anger didn't last long, for she still saw the pistol pointed at her, and acknowledging the threat he made a second ago, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for another bullet. The moment she waited felt like an eternity and more. Finally the gunshot came.

But she felt no pain.

She opened her eyes, and could see the turian lowering his gun slowly. He had missed on purpose. "Why are you following me?" he asked, giving her a puzzled look.

"Maybe I like you?" Melanis answered jokingly, though she really didn't find much humor in this situation. She took a quick glance at her wounded leg, carefully taking her clutching arm off the wound to see the damage clearly. To her relief, it was more of a scratch than a real bullet wound, and it wasn't bleeding very much. But it would still hinder her movement a lot, maybe even preventing her from walking. _This wasn't going very well_, Melanis thought, before turning her blood-stained palm at the turian man, "No... It can't be that,..." she continued, "Because you shot me!"

"You'll live," the turian said curtly, his face showing no signs of pity or mercy. But he seemed a bit... amused.

Melanis ignored his reaction, snorting at him angrily, and the turian slip his hand - the one that wasn't holding the pistol - into his pocket, and pulled a small tube out. Melanis immediately recognized it as medigel, every soldier did. Also the fact that she always carried a small tube of that healing salve in her person made identifying the object a lot easier. He dangled the tube in front of her teasingly, his cold, emotionless eyes still staring at her. "Why are you following me?"

Quickly realizing the name of the game, Melanis twitched her mandibles in annoyance at him. "Don't need your medigel. Have my own," she snapped, annoyed at these ridiculous games. If he wanted to kill her, why not just get on with it? Being dead would most likely be a lot less annoying than listening to his prattling.

The medigel and the gun then switched places, with the gun coming back up, and the medigel going back down, all the way to his pocket. "Not enough," he said threateningly. "Why are you following me?" he repeated the same question again.

At that point, it became clear that he wasn't going to shoot her without knowing why she had tailed him, which meant she had time. Time to gather her strength and get ready to attack.

He wouldn't see her coming.

Already she began feeling the buildup of dark energy around her, inside her, but she needed time. Time she had to buy.

"Why are you snooping around the Pack's neighborhood?" Melanis avoided his question again, trying to stall as best as she could.

"I have the gun. I'm asking the questions," the turian reminded her, waving his gun threateningly in the air.

The blue whirl of energy around her began to grow in strength, in brightness. Melanis wished he didn't notice that, but she wasn't taking any chances. She would need to distract him, annoy him. She was very good at that, she'd been told. "You're a real people person, aren't you?" she asked mockingly.

Then she slowly, inch-by-inch, began pulling her hand backwards, feeling the concentration of biotic power in her palm. In a moment she would release it all by extending her arm sharply towards the turian, knocking him out of balance, buying herself time to level her pistol at him in turn.

The seconds felt like days as she waited for a suitable moment. She had only one chance, and she wasn't going to ruin it by being careless.

The turian blinked, and in a split second she made the decision to push her arm towards him, to knock him down. But somehow the turian was ready; his free hand shot up very quickly, his omni-tool ready and already firing. A burst of electricity hit her, and she felt the biotic power dying in her hand, only a tiny fraction of it flying towards him, even that vanishing into the air quickly.

"Nice try," the turian said mockingly, now flickering his mandibles at her in glee.

Melanis was absolutely shocked; how could he have acted so fast? He couldn't possibly have known that she was a biotic! She was a turian, for spirits' sake! Biotics were very rare among their species, almost nonexistent! He couldn't possibly have expected that! And what kind of a tech attack was that? Had he disabled her amp? She had heard of such during her Cabal training, heard that only special forces used to battle biotics had access to that kind of tech, it being very expensive and rare. Standard omni-tools couldn't even do that effectively, lacked the finesse and the power. Who the hell was this guy? "How did you do that?" Melanis gasped, feeling completely out-classed.

"With practice," the turian said blankly, flickering his mandibles once again. The arrogant gesture annoyed Melanis a great deal, as did his overconfident bearing and manner. So she was glad to see that the glee in him quickly vanished and the strict, steely expression returned, his pistol again pointed at her without faltering. "No more tricks," he added coldly, "Or I'll kill you."

Somehow, Melanis knew he wasn't kidding. She had no choice but to surrender. The thought angered her, shamed her, but she didn't wish to die for something this petty, no matter what her honor would demand. So she sighed in defeat, and yielded. "What do you want to know?"

"Is your memory that bad?" the turian asked, now mockingly again. "I've asked the question many times already."

Melanis gave him a quick glare, growling quietly in anger. First he defeated her, shamed her, and now he was going to mock her? As if yielding like a coward wasn't good enough? Melanis could barely stomach the thought of being defeated, and she most definitely wasn't going to kneel down before him and lay there like a dead varren to be kicked around. "I'll answer your questions," Melanis hissed in anger. "Otherwise keep your mouth shut." Melanis revealed her teeth, spread her mandibles, and stared at him defiantly. "_Or I will kill you."_she added threateningly, mimicking his words from before.

The turian stared at her, his expression curious and surprised, but not angry at being defied. He then nodded to her calmly, like acknowledging her words, but whether that was due to the threat itself, she didn't know. Maybe he understood that he wasn't going to gain anything by taunting her anyway, but was going to risk her attacking again. It didn't really matter.

"You're not a merc," Melanis then continued, still glaring at him.

"And how do you know that?"

"Well…" Melanis began, irritated at this second-guessing. She had followed him for hours, but he still seemed to think her as incompetent. Everything about the turian annoyed her, and she just wanted to punch his mandibles in. He and his stupid, smug attitude. "You would have gone to your employer already, not to the nearest bar to drown your sorrows," she retorted with venom.

His mandibles twitched in both hurt and surprise, causing Melanis' to flicker in glee. '_Not so smug now, are you?' _she thought. And she wasn't done. "What's the matter?" she continued her taunting, adding more water to the mill, firing at that soft spot he had just revealed. "Your girl left you or something?"

The turian's mandibles twitched again, and Melanis saw his grip on the pistol tightening. Glee she felt vanished in an instant, and the realization of her stupidity hit her hard. She was a moron; taunting a man with a pistol in his hand, and who had even promised to kill her should she do something he didn't like. And he definitely didn't like this. She should have just let the matter be, she shouldn't have tried to get back at him. She wasn't trained to act stupid, to act impulsively, but act intelligently. This wasn't intelligent, just petty. Petty and stupid. But was making a stupid mistake something she should die for? She didn't want to die, despite her life being often miserable and cruel. She still didn't want it to end. There were still things she wanted to see, to experience. She wanted to see her home, her family on Palaven again. She wanted to see her fellow cabals again, they were her comrades, her friends.

But...

But she also wanted to see Carus again. This way she would, this way her spirit could be with his forever. It was a soothing and lovely thought. Maybe it wasn't so bad to die after all?

She closed her eyes again, waiting.

But the bullet never came.

She slowly opened her eyes and saw him lowering his pistol again. "No," he said quietly, then turned around, holstered the sidearm, and started walking away.

…

It had been extremely hard to lower his hand, to let go of the pistol. Garrus had almost killed her right there, and he still sort of wished that he had. It would still be easy to turn around and pull the trigger if he wanted to, but that was not the reason he was here. He wasn't here to satisfy his petty, ridiculous urges, but to fight and to be free. But was this what he was going to use his new-found freedom for? For leaving people to die on the street, simply because they had insulted him? He was here to deliver justice, and this wasn't justice.

He hesitated, and felt incredibly disappointed at himself. Garrus had always thought he had an extremely strong sense of right and wrong, and that he would always do the right thing... but now this petty revenge felt a lot more lucrative. Why did she have to make helping her so hard? Garrus would have patched her up, interrogated her a little more, and then sent her on her way, but now he didn't want to have anything to do with her. He just wanted to be alone and...

...and drink. The thought made him growl quietly at himself. He felt weak and pathetic.

Then he was pulled away from these somber thoughts by that turian woman. "Hey! Wait a second!" she called after him. "You're just gonna leave me here like this?"

Garrus halted, hesitated again. He wanted to leave her to rot, wanted not to care about her fate, but he found himself caring anyway. He didn't know how to feel about that or why he felt like that, but he did. He didn't understand; he had no reason not to kill her, not to leave her there, because for all he knew she could be a slaving, murderous mercenary just looking for her next victim... but she really didn't seem like one. "Should I leave you?" Garrus asked, voicing his own uncertainties. He truly had no idea.

"I might be a bit biased about this, but I really think you shouldn't," she said lightly, jokingly, and it caused Garrus to smile. She was funny, she amused him. And she was attractive, very much so in fact. Was that the reason he couldn't so easily walk away from this situation? He'd hate to think that such superficial things held that much influence over him, that they controlled him so. But he really had no idea, and that was frustrating.

"I'm not a merc," the turian girl behind his back said, as if reading his thoughts. Biotics were strange and feared among turians, but they weren't magical creatures, they couldn't do such things. At least he hoped so, for if she knew his lecherous thoughts, it would be most embarrassing. "If that's what you're thinking," she added, like still reading his mind.

"Really?" Garrus asked her, slight disbelief shining through his voice. "How can I know?"

"Please," the girl pleaded quietly, and to Garrus it seemed sincere. Suddenly it was like some ancient, protective instinct inside him surfaced and made him feel like he was a monster, leaving a helpless female behind like that. All these uncontrolled sensations were ridiculous and they angered him. He was in control, not his emotions.

Except that it wasn't so.

Suddenly, he heard a very familiar sound coming from behind him; it was the sound of a pistol being armed. He could immediately feel the muzzle pointed at his back, and the golden turian confirmed his suspicions. "And if you don't help me, I'll shoot you dead!" she said with feigned cheer.

Garrus growled to himself again. His ridiculous urges and feelings had done this. His self-control was pathetic, he was pathetic! He should be dead for this! It was a ridiculously stupid mistake, and only someone who was completely dense and inexperienced could fail this horribly. He hadn't checked her for weapons, for spirits' sake! That was the most important thing when apprehending a suspect! He felt – and was – an utter moron. He slowly, careful to avoid any sudden movements, turned to the turian girl, who kept aiming her standard turian military sidearm at Garrus' chest with triumphant expression. Her mandibles flickered in glee at his very angry and defeated expression.

"So… Wanna help?" she asked perkily, an annoying, feigned smile distorting her face.

The smug, disgusting grin on her face caused Garrus to grit his teeth in anger, which only made the smile on her face wider. It was clear that she simply wished to annoy him. Garrus refused to give her the satisfaction, and swallowed his anger. "Fine," he snapped, starting towards her. She put the gun back into her pocket, and flickered her mandibles in glee again as he approached her, but Garrus hid his annoyance. He stopped next to her, towering over her. "I knew where to shoot, the wound's not bad," he said curtly.

"How nice of you," the girl replied with just as curt tone, glaring at him from under her brow. Like the rest of her plates, her brow was golden as well. Garrus' eyes lingered in its pleasant color, pleasant shape, but when he realized that she was putting her hand into her pocket, he snapped out it. Quite literally.

The turian before him froze, her hand remaining in her pocket. She didn't stare straight at him, not at his eyes anyway, but did look at something at his waist's level. He felt a slight fluster as various ideas of what it could be raced through his mind, and again he found himself pulled away from such thoughts when she spoke. "Do you mind?" she asked with a strange tone, and after a moment's contemplation, Garrus figured that it was amused, but also fearful. Why was she suddenly afraid of him?

"What?"

The girl didn't answer, just nodded towards that same something she had been staring at this whole time. Garrus followed her gaze, and found out that he had been holding onto his pistol's handle. He let go of it quite rapidly. "Uh...go ahead," he muttered.

The girl relaxed, flickered her mandibles at him. Garrus realized that his fumbling must have looked quite comical and again he felt – and most likely looked – quite the fool. With an amused snort, the turian woman pulled out a tube of medigel from her pocket, and began attending to her wound. Garrus watched her with fascination as she treated herself, her talons nimbly and precisely spreading the medigel onto the wound. It was clear that this wasn't the first time she did some first aid, he thought, while observing. And also the fact that she was a biotic helped Garrus to come to that conclusion, for turian biotics were put in specialist teams called Cabals, used for high-risk missions and intelligence. Despite the mistrust towards biotics, nobody could deny that Cabals were elite soldiers. There was always some good-spirited competition between the different branches in the turian armed forces, each trying to be the toughest and the best. Often Cabals were very near the top.

It was quite the coincidence to meet a Cabal here... So it maybe it wasn't? Was she here to spy on him? By whose orders? The Hierarchy's? The Council's? Who'd want to spy on him? Come to think of it, Garrus couldn't really picture anyone caring enough to do that, for he had ceased being important at the moment Shepard had died... Garrus smiled briefly, for the thought didn't actually bother him. It was better to be inconspicuous, than a target for everyone to take aim at. But why was she taking an interest in him?

And what was she doing here?

"Hello-ooo?" the turian suddenly hollered at him, waving her hand in front of him. As Garrus came back to his senses, an amused flicker again moved her mandibles. She offered her hand to him so courteously that Garrus knew she was jesting again, and then she grinned, "Wanna help me up?"

Garrus hesitated for a second, staring at the slender hand in front of him. Then he took it, and pulled her back to her feet. He saw her grimacing in pain as she put weight on her hurt leg and Garrus realized that she wasn't able to stand on her own, so he grabbed her by the arm and swung it over his shoulders. Garrus then took her by the waist, and helped her carry her weight. As his talons touched her side, their eyes met for a moment. The moment quickly turned awkward, and gazes of them both dropped.

"Um..." the turian girl mumbled quietly, obviously flustered.

Garrus stayed quiet, for he didn't really know what to say. Should he pull away? Let go of her and let her fall to the ground again? Hear her cries of pain as her leg smashed against the metallic floor? At least it would end this ever more uncomfortable situation... "Can you walk?" Garrus asked, hoping that she would at least try. It wasn't like he was repulsed by her or anything, but rather that he barely knew her. She had just pointed a gun at him and here he was, only minutes later, cradling her in his arms! He was grabbing her by the waist, spirits' sake! _That's not really helping_, Garrus thought, trying to focus on something else.

Like her speech, "I said I can't," the woman snapped, now turning to look at him again. "You think I just got better?"

The awkwardness vanished, and the annoyance returned. "I could still leave you here. Don't make me change my mind."

"If you wanted to leave me here, you would have already," the girl remarked slyly.

Garrus simply glared at her.

The girl sighed wearily and broke eye-contact. "Just take me home, if you will?"

Garrus blinked, "Your home?" he asked, bemused. Garrus wondered if she had suddenly forgot where she was, for taking random strangers to your home on Omega was a good way to get killed quickly. She didn't think that he would harm her? Why not? What had he done to make her think otherwise?

And how did he know this wasn't some kind of a trap? What if she was here just to lure him somewhere, where he could be easily ambushed by the Pack or someone else? He wasn't going to make two mistakes today. One was enough.

"Yes, _my home_," the woman replied mockingly. "Is that so strange?"

"Yes," Garrus snapped, glaring at her suspiciously.

She quickly picked up the meaning, and sighed again, "Such trust... If I wanted to kill you, I would have when you foolishly turned your back at me."

Garrus bristled at the mention of his stupidity and considered snapping back at her, but then he realized that she actually had a point. He would be dead already if she wanted him to die.

Which meant that she needed him alive, if she was even here to harm him, that is.

"Fine. Let's go then. But I'm keeping an eye on you," Garrus growled.

"I'm sure you do," the turian girl said with a flicker of her mandibles.

…


End file.
